by KD Robichaux
I smile slightly. “I had actually been wondering that.”
“Everyone does,” he states, returning my smile. “That is a consent form. Normally, there is doctor/patient confidentiality. What this paper states is there is still that confidentiality, but you give me permission to share my findings with the rest of the Alias team. They have all signed a NDA, a non-disclosure agreement, also known as a secrecy agreement. So basically they’ve all been sworn to secrecy when it comes to anything that goes on in these therapy sessions.”
I squirm in my seat. It was one thing to come into this thinking I’d have to divulge everything to one person. But allowing him to tell a group of people my deepest, darkest secrets….
“You have to remember, everyone who is a member of the club has to go through this process. The four people, including me, who are privy to your background, go through this with every member. They’ve heard every story under the sun. There’s nothing you could say that would shock them, make them judge you, or cause them to treat you any differently,” he assures, and I relax into the soft leather. “There are two reasons we do the therapy sessions before membership is offered. The first, as I’m sure Seven told you, is to make sure a prospect has no bad intentions.”
“I’m sorry to cut in, but how exactly do you figure all that out?” I can’t help it. My author brain loves to absorb information to potentially use it in a book.
“Seven told me you write BDSM romance novels, is that right?” he asks, and I nod. “So you more than likely know what sadism and masochism is. Sadism is the tendency to derive pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from inflicting pain, suffering, or humiliation on others. A masochist is a person on the other end. They derive the pleasure from being humiliated, hurt, or controlled. Ah… and there it is.”
My eyes focus on his, and my brow furrows. “There’s what?”
“You, my dear, are a masochist. A natural submissive. I can decipher the smallest of micro-expressions, but with you, your emotions play over your face like a pantomime. The thought of being sadistic, inflicting pain on others, visibly turned you off. That’s not in you. But the moment I said the word controlled, your lids nearly closed at the thought, your breath caught, and your legs rubbed together.” He smirks as I look down at my knees, which I had unconsciously and tightly clamped together. “Now, say you were a sadist. It would be my job to make sure you weren’t someone who would go too far when inflicting pain. Someone who would want to actually harm another person, instead of giving them mutual sexual pleasure.”
“I see.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “And the second reason you do the therapy sessions?”
“To understand how to heal,” he replies, and I tilt my head in confusion. “Normally, there is a reason one gravitates toward BDSM. It doesn’t just one day sound fun to be flogged or gagged. It had to come from something, no matter how small. For some, it’s as simple as they have a very high-powered position in their career, so when they come into the club, they like to hand over the power and be controlled. Or maybe the opposite: the executive assistant who has to wait on her boss hand and foot all day likes to come and feel what it’s like to be completely in control, to be the one giving out the orders and receiving someone’s willing submission. But then there are the more complicated cases. The ones we have to take care of. The ones where something happened to them and caused them to have these needs. Unwillingly.”
The last word hangs in the air like a physical thing, and I wish I could swat it away like an annoying gnat. Am I really that easily readable? But the more he’s talked, the more I want in. I’m not special here. Everyone in Club Alias has their own stories, their own reasons to be there. They’ve probably heard my type of story over and over again and won’t bat an eyelash. So I take the pen attached to the clipboard and sign on the line at the bottom of the page, giving permission for Dr. Walker to share with his team.
“Very good,” he says, and I set the clipboard down in my lap. He glances down at his watch. “We have thirty minutes left in your session. Shall we begin?”
I take a deep breath then nod. “All right, doc. Shrink me.”
The next half hour is spent telling him my life story from the very beginning. We only make it up until I reached high school before time runs out. We haven’t even reached the juicy part of my life yet, and he’s already got some theories.
“Even before you hit your teenage years, you were leaning toward a more submissive nature. You had an eagerness to please. You had a good childhood, with a strong male for a father, but also a very doting and loving mother. Instead of taking advantage of her spoiling ways, you went another route. You seemed to want to earn the love she gave you, impress her by doing well in school and trying out the different extracurricular activities she wanted to put you in, even if they didn’t interest you. I’m eager for our next session because I have a feeling there is way more to your story than that though,” he summarizes, and as we stand, he reaches out his giant paw of a hand for me to shake, and I place mine against his palm. He’s gentle when he closes his fingers around me, and the contact is brief. Can he sense I’m not used to people touching me?
“I look forward to seeing you next time, Vivian. Have a good week,” he tells me, and I smile weakly.
Although it seemed oddly easy to ramble on about myself with Dr. Walker, we hadn’t reached the part of my life that haunts me. That would most likely come during our next session. Would the words spill out of me so easily then? Could I close my eyes and pretend I was telling him about a character in one of my books? Or better yet, could I write it all out as one of my romance novels and hand it to him, demanding, “Here. Read this.”? Now that I think about it, I bet that would be therapeutic in itself, typing out my story and calling it fiction, writing the ending different from reality, the way I would want my life to play out.
Before I leave, he has me stop at the reception desk to make my appointment for next week. I also fill out the application for membership at Club Alias, checking the boxes for “Submissive,” and “Yes” when it asked if I would like to participate in the optional training program. When it asked if I had a preference on who would be my teacher, I wrote in Seven’s name. There’s no way in hell I would let anyone else.
I’VE WATCHED THE video of Vi’s first session with Doc over and over again for the past week. We’d dated for nearly a year before we were married for two, so there’s really nothing during this session I didn’t already know about her. Doc’s insightfulness spelled out in layman’s terms what I had felt about her when we were getting to know each other. I had sensed that natural submissiveness in her, and always thought it was one of the things that drew me to her.
Hearing her talk about her mom and dad brought back so many memories. I had been damn close to my ex-mother-in-law, and realizing I never spoke to her after Vi and I separated makes me feel like an asshole. I know she loved me too, and I never really thought about how she would’ve felt losing me as part of her family.
I close out the video file and push back from my desk. I move into the bedroom of my condo to change into my workout gear, glancing out my window to see the lamp is on in Vi’s room across the street. I can just make out her silhouette behind her sheer gray curtains as she sits at her desk, most likely typing away on one of her books.
We live in the part we call downtown in our small city. The section of town with the library, courthouse, police station, etc. Vi’s building is one of the oldest in the city. It actually used to be the nurses’ quarters for the hospital, back in the ‘50s. They had turned them into spacious luxury apartments, keeping all the original hardwood flooring and fixtures. You could smell the years when you entered the building.
My complex is brand new, built the year I got out of the army. An apartment was available in her building, but one, I didn’t want to risk running into her, and two, I could keep a better eye on her from over here. In the past few years, she has never once had anyone over but her family. Not even
Sierra, because her husband had been stationed in Hawaii five years ago, taking her and their son with him.
I had been pretty fucking lucky when I was booted out of the army. Not even a day after I received my papers stating I was now a civilian, Doc had contacted me, stating he had been following my career since I won the National Marksman competition. He said he had put me on the back burner of his mind, assuming I would be a lifer in the military, but when I had been discharged, he took the opportunity to swoop in and give me a proposition.
He and two other men at the time, Seth and Brian—as in Brian Glover, my former private who had served his four-year enlistment and got out—had established Imperium Security. But it was no normal security service they provided. They were mercenaries, contract killers with a conscience. They only took on cases where the enemy deserved their permanent punishment, those fucktards who had escaped justice by using money and red tape. And since all I knew for the past decade and a half was one shot, one kill, having spent all that time in the army as a sniper, the job was something I slid into like I was slathered in KY.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, alerting me to a text.
Dr. Neil Walker, M.D., M.F.T., Ph.D.
Appointment Reminder:
Vivian Brown
Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.
Send YES to confirm.
I glance up at the window again, watching through the sheer curtain as Vi moves across her room to where she keeps her phone plugged in on her nightstand. A few seconds later, my phone buzzes once again.
Dr. Lee Walker, M.D., M.F.T., Ph.D.
Thank you for your confirmation.
We look forward to seeing you at your appointment.
My heart speeds up, knowing that tomorrow Doc and Vi will pick up where they’d left off during their last appointment. She’d been just about to start talking about her freshman year of high school, when Lee had cut her off, telling her their time was up. I’d slammed my fists down on my desk so forcefully my laptop had bounced between them the first time I’d watched it. Twenty views later, and it still pisses me off when it ends. But tomorrow, we’ll see what she has to say about her teenage years, the years in which she met and married me.
MY COLORFUL AZTEC-print legging-covered knee bounces in nervousness as I sit across from Dr. Walker. I’ve gone through what I’ll say during this session in my head over and over again. He’ll want me to continue with my life story. Would I give him the modified version, the same version I gave my last therapist? Or would I just give him the God’s honest truth?
I had concluded I need to tell him the whole story. I’ve held onto my secret for the past ten years, and at thirty-one years old, I’m tired of carrying around its weight. It may be nice to let someone else help me carry the burden. And since it’s clear there’s no chance I can hide anything from him anyway, I may as well not make him drag it out of me. It will still be painful, but far less this way.
“So, Vivian, when we ended our session last time, you had just finished telling me about your middle school years. You had dropped out of your ballet and piano classes, after your mom told you she knew you were only taking them to make her happy. So that brings us to your freshman year of high school,” Dr. Walker summarizes, then gestures with his pen for me to pick up from there.
I adjust myself on the leather couch, sliding my feet out of my flip-flops and drawing my legs up beneath me. This is a long story, so I may as well get comfortable.
“So… yeah. Freshman year. A fresh beginning at a new school, right? Ya’d think. But alas, the little fuckers who went to my private middle school followed me right into the brand-new private high school. And it didn’t take long for the new kids who’d signed up to catch on to the way my old classmates treated me. They joined in on the continued teasing… all except for Jaxon.” I smile at the thought of my old friend, my very first boyfriend. “He was a beautiful boy. He was tall, and blond, and tan, with the most amazing big blue eyes I’d ever seen. He didn’t understand everyone’s relentless teasing about me being skinny, because his little sister was super thin too. He began sitting next to me in our classes, sticking up for me when people would be assholes. And that made me open up to him, and we soon started dating.
“He introduced me to rock climbing. I hadn’t wanted to go at first, but Mom talked me into it, just to see what it was about. I went, just because I wanted to hang out with Jaxon outside of school. I had no idea I would end up being a natural at it, and then become completely obsessed with the sport,” I say, smiling as I stare off in the direction of Dr. Walker’s bookcase.
“You were good at it?” he prompts, jotting something on his notepad.
“Damn good at it. Let’s just say it was something my mom didn’t have to talk me into going back and trying again. I basically lived there for the next four years. But as much as I loved it, it gave all my classmates something else to tease me mercilessly about,” I tell him, my voice dropping.
“Why is that?” he asks, his brow furrowing.
“Well, not too long after I got into rock climbing, Jaxon and I broke up, realizing we were better off as friends. No matter how many times both of us tried to tell people it was a mutual split, they still made up rumors that he had dumped me because I was some stuck-up bitch since I never talked to anyone, or because ‘What guy would want to date a girl who spends so much time at a gym, climbing on walls?’ So I never even tried to make any friends. I just had to grin and bear it every day during school hours before the last bell rang and I could go to Rock On.”
“Rock On? That’s the climbing place just down the road, right? I’ve been meaning to try it out, but haven’t made the time,” he adds. He did this in our last session too, putting in tidbits to make it feel like we’re having a conversation instead of it being an interrogation. It definitely helps me open up to him.
I perk up, my face forming a wide smile. “Oh, God. Yes! You have to go! You won’t regret it at all. It’s so much fun. You get a full-body workout without having to just lift stupid dumbbells. I miss it a lot. I don’t go very often anymore.”
“Why is that?” he repeats in his shrink voice.
“I just got busy, I guess. Five years ago, my one and only best friend, Sierra, moved to Hawaii. Her husband is in the army. His family owns the rock gym. I kept going for a few more years after she left, just for a couple hours in the morning before work, but then I started writing. Once my books took off and I quit my job at the paper, climbing wasn’t part of my routine anymore. What they don’t tell you when you start working from home is that you actually end up working way more. I write from sunup to sundown, because I don’t have set hours to do my ‘job.’”
“This is very true. Plus, stopping your only form of physical activity and leading a sedentary life as an author can lead to you having more of your anxiety issues. We’ll have to revisit this in a later session. But for right now, I want you to continue with your timeline. What happened after you and Jaxon broke up? Tell me about your next relationship,” he prompts innocently enough, and my gut drops to the springs of the couch.
I swallow hard, my face turning hot, and my heart begins to pound. Spots form in front of my eyes. I can see Dr. Walker’s form, but not his actual features, and I think I may throw up.
Next thing I know, he’s crouched in front of me with a cup of water, but it’s not until his hand lifts my chin to meet his piercing blue eyes that I can take a deep breath—a gasp at being touched. “Vi? In through your nose and out through your mouth. Come on. There you go,” he soothes. “Take a sip of water. You’re pale as a ghost.”
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” I wheeze, taking the cup from his hand and swallowing some of the cool drink.
“Don’t be sorry. Looks like we’ve touched on something that needs to be discussed,” he states, and I almost whimper. The turn in conversation had been a sucker punch. One second we were talking about rock climbing, and the next, there it was. The subject I had been dreading talking about since
I agreed to do the therapy sessions.
Without my permission, tears fall from my eyes and down my cheeks, and still crouched before me, he reaches over to the end table and grabs me some tissues.
“Y-you have to understand, I… I haven’t told anyone about this time in my life. I’ve g-gone to therapy before, Dr. Walker, and I managed to keep this part of me hidden. It… it’s the most painful thing I’ve ever been through,” I sob, wiping my face as he gets up to sit next to me on the couch.
“I understand, Vivian. Before we continue, I know you have space issues. Would you rather me take my normal seat, or here, closer. Which would you prefer?” he asks in a completely professional tone. There’s no innuendo, only sincere concern in his voice.
“Here, please. This is gonna be tough.” I let out a half laugh holding no humor whatsoever. It’s more like a gush of nervousness expelling from my body.
“Okay. Take your time and tell me. What was your next relationship like after Jaxon? Your original response only makes me assume it was abusive, perhaps? So take all the time you need,” he says, but my head is already shaking as I look up at him next to me through watery eyes.
“Oh, God, no. Not at all.” My lip trembles and my nose stings. “My next relationship was with the love of my life. I found my soul mate, Dr. Walker. He was my everything. And I had to give him up.”
His brow furrows, and he jolts back a bit in surprise. “Ah, well then. Please continue,” he says, standing momentarily to grab his notepad and pen before sitting back down beside me. He props his ankle up on his knee and turns to face me as he rests his elbow on the back of the couch.
“God, where do I even begin?” I sigh, glancing up at the ceiling before closing my eyes, and Corbin’s perfect face plays across the back of my eyelids like a movie screen. Tears still trickle out of the corners and a sad smile tugs at my lips. “It was my senior year,” I breathe, starting from the very beginning. “I was at Rock On, and I was up on the wall. Heard the bells chime over the doors, but thought nothing of it until Sierra called me over to do a belay lesson. Before I even approached the front, I had… a feeling. Thinking about it now, it wasn’t too different than when I feel a panic attack coming on, but... in a good way. Like something big was about to happen. And there he was. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t breathe. He was… he was my world. Corbin Lowe.”
